


Spring Song of Robins and Ladybugs

by mangamyriad



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Badass Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Crossover, F/F, F/M, My First Fanfic, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:40:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24244429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangamyriad/pseuds/mangamyriad
Summary: Robins are associated with good luck, sacrifice, and celebration of new beginnings, which also rings true for Marinette/Ladybug. This is my ode to them.Series of one shots (some in multiple parts) involving healing of my traumatized babies whom I love so dearly. Marinette is aged up in all of these fics. There will be a minimum on character bashing and salt because there is plenty of angst even without it.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Luka Couffaine/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug/Damian Wayne, Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug/Jason Todd, Pamela Isley/Harleen Quinzel, Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Comments: 91
Kudos: 427





	1. Song of spring

**Author's Note:**

> Officially fallen down the Maribat rabbit hole. I haven't written in nearly a decade, but as someone who grew up on comics and came to love Miraculous as an adult, I can't help but contribute my own ideas. May extend some of them in the future and feel free to use these one shots as prompts for your own fics! Comments appreciated!

It was down-pouring; the toll of the bell echoing in the desolate streets of Gotham. Empty that is -save for two shadowy figures, tucked away in an alley. 

She slammed her fist against the wall. 

"Why," she whispered, letting herself slump to the ground. He remained silent, bending down to cradle her into his arms.  
Head against his chest, she exhaled a shuddering breath. 

"What 's the point?" He looked into her bluebell eyes, pools threatening to overflow. He didn't have a response or atleast not the one she wanted to hear. 

Reaching up, her fingers slowly traced the outline of his mask. He swears he can feel the burn of her touch. Were he a lesser man, he would've removed it right then and there, but he bites down the urge.  
Not tonight. 

Instead, he lifts the heroine, gently placing her atop the back of his motorcycle. 

"Hold on." He feels her arms circle firmly around his waist. Something in his chest tightens. He knows she won't divulge her hideout and decides against using his own. The other place, while secret, is the only safe haven he can think of. 

The roof of the decrepit building had completely crumbled, letting in rays of moonlight. Cracks marred the stained glass as cobwebs stretched across the pews, yet they rendered the abandoned church strangely more welcoming. 

"You really know how to impress a girl." The bluenette smirked, but he could tell she was slightly in awe. Her hands itched for a sketchbook. The ride had helped wash away some of her fatigue, restoring her mischievous sparkle.

"I thought girls were into stargazing?"  
As if on cue, a loose brick tumbled from the ceiling. She raises an eyebrow. 

"Typically they look for shooting stars, not falling bricks."

"Figured the spontaneity would add excitement."

She let out an incredulous laugh, "a haunted church not exciting enough for you?" 

"I find that the living are scarier than ghosts." 

"You say that as if you know a few."

He shrugs. 

She inches towards the stained glass mural in the center of the room, reading the inscription aloud. 

"The blood from His crown stained the bird's chest. And from its chest, came the song of spring."

She tilted her head, eyes narrowing in concentration.

"It's a robin. The text comes from a legend about the Crucifixion of Christ."

"Didn't peg you as a religious man."

He shakes his head and scoffs lightly. "Perhaps in another life. In this one, I just like being a smartass."

She hums in agreement (Red is most definitely a smart ass). "I don't question the existence of Gods, but faith? I suppose, I could use more of that nowadays." 

He hesitates. Standing in the glow of the stained glass, she looks both larger than life and startlingly fragile at the same time.

He's seen her take down villains without so much as a scratch, save entire cities from destruction, heck -he's even been personally rescued on countless occasions. And yet, all he can think of is wrapping her into his embrace and shielding her from this unthankful world. 

What he had first seen as naivety, he now recognizes as a sense of justice and hope for humanity. It's in her sheer bullheadedness. Her bravery. Her optimism. Her strength of character. Had she not found him when all he saw was red -mind blurred by bloodshed and brimstone -he most likely would have been on the receiving end of her yoyo. 

Though, the first time he met her, he had in fact received a solid beating. In his defense, he didn't have practice against bulletproof, goddess-blessed, heroines. Recalling it now, he tries and fails to stop his fit of laughter.

"Red, are you ok?"

Is it possible to die from laughter? There are actual tears in his eyes. He can picture his tombstone now, 'Kill me once, shame on you. Kill me twice, shame on me.' First death by Joker, second death by Ladybug. Though he supposes there are worse ways to go.

"I knew it, you've officially gone crazy. It was only a matter of time."

She was so small. Looked so defenseless. The way she flipped him over her shoulder like he was a feather? Comedic gold. If his siblings ever found out, he would never live it down. 

"Seriously Red, you're making me worried." 

She held onto his shoulder, blue eyes wide. 

"Did you get hit with Joker Venom?" She glances around nervously. 

He inhales deeply, noticing her panic. 

"Sorry, sorry. I just remembered something hilarious. I'm fine. Really."

She pouts. Adorable. What he would give to kiss that pout. 

"No really, I'm venom free. Joker's still locked up. All thanks to you." 

"Don't remind me." She grimaces.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
Tada! Chapter 1! Did you spot the easter egg? 'In another life' refers to Priest Jason Todd from the Flashpoint Timeline :) it's an interesting arc that I thought would be fun to allude to. Hope you enjoyed! Any comments are appreciated!


	2. Fixer upper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a flashback to the first time Marinette met Jason. Let's just say it goes much more smoothly compared to when Ladybug meets Red Hood~ This multi-chaptered one-shot will be post-Hawkmoth. It's a story of recovery and allowing yourself to rely and trust in others again.
> 
> As always, comments appreciated!

After single-handedly taking down the Joker, it didn't take very long for the villains of Gotham to catch wind of what local newspapers began dubbing as 'traceless' crime fighting -as in no damages, no victims, and no clues left behind. Vastly differing eye-witness accounts only served to further confuse the public.

A: There were two. No, three. Maybe four? Definitely a team though. You don't honestly believe it was the work of one person, do you? Even Batman has a sidekick.  
B: Looked like Catwoman if you ask me. Leather suit and all. Maybe she turned over a new leaf.  
C: Alls I seen was a blindin' light. Next thing I knows, cops all up in my face, tellin' me I was almost robb'd. Funny thing is, don't even memba bein' robb'd.  
D: Four letters. TMNT. Teenage. Mutant. Ninja. Turtles. But like, less cool. Actually maybe it was the turtle bros. Hey, do you think-

She flipped the channel with a sigh. As amusing as it was to become something of an urban legend, she couldn't help but worry that the target on her head was getting bigger by the minute. The last thing she needed was more attention. 

Tikki, what kind of cookie are you feeling tonight? Sugar? Chocolate chip? How about the rest?

She took down all of the kwamis preferences and popped in the latest Jagged Stone CD. As the daughter of two of the best bakers in Paris, stress baking had become something of an occupational hazard... that sometimes got out of hand. 

***

Turns out, she had baked enough to feed a small village. Her training instructor would have a fit if she even dared to eat more than one, but there was no way the kwamis could polish these off before going bad. 

Tikki flew up, eyes sparkling. 

"You haven't had a chance to greet your neighbors Marinette. It'd be the perfect opportunity to make some new friends."

The Creation Kwami had grown concerned since her Chosen had moved to this crime ridden city. While Paris was plenty safe with the protection of Queen Bee, Ryuko, and Viperion, she knew that Marinette had still not fully recovered since the Final Fight. Tikki understood what it felt like to lose a partner more than most, but she also knew that it took more than a positive attitude to recover. Despite all of the convincing from her teammates and loved ones, Marinette found that the best distraction was working. She couldn't bear to stay in Paris without reliving its memories, deciding instead to continue her dream of designing while still bearing the mantle. 

***

She fiddled with the ring dangling off her neck as she waited for the disgruntled voice to open the door. The sound of glass breaking, followed by a string of curses, only made her grow even more anxious.

"What is it?" A deep, raspy voice barked.

"H-hi. I'm your new neighbor, Marinette. Just wanted to introduce myself."

"Consider yourself introduced."

Tikki nudged her encouragingly from the inside of her pocketbook. 

"I brought cookies? As a gift? They're fresh out of the oven."

Another grunt. She could hear a series of locks being undone. Tikki shrugged. It is Gotham after all. 

Truth be told, she had expected a haggard, drunken man (if the grunting and glass breaking was any indication). In fact, she was picturing the very mugger she dropped off at the precinct yesterday. What she had not imagined, was a tall, dark, and handsome, rugged figure with a streak of white running through his tousled hair. She bit hard on the inside of her cheek to stop from squeaking. The blush, however, she had absolutely no control over.

"H-hi. I'm Marinette."

"So you've said." His previously tensed frame relaxed, hand placed on his hip with an air of arrogance. He smirked. How utterly charming. How unbelievably unfair. How-

"Those for me?" He reached out to grab the tin, wincing slightly.

Most people wouldn't have noticed his slip up. Most people would probably get lost in the blueness of his eyes and the curvature of his quirked lips, but then again -Marinette Dupain-Cheng was not most people. She was trained in the art of reading body language. And he was most definitely in pain. Without thinking, she gripped his outstretched wrist and pulled. 

Shocked by the amount of force she held in her tiny stature, he stumbled forwards. Under the glaring lighting of the hallway, he couldn't quite hide the growing red stain that spread from his shoddily bandaged shoulder. 

"You're hurt." Her eyebrows furrowed and lips scrunched.

"You did a terrible job by the way."

"Excuse me?"

"That kind of stitching won't last you through the night. Your wound is definitely going to be infected."

"What are you, a nurse?" He shook off her hand. The last thing he needed was to raise the suspicions of his neighbors -least of all a cute, petite (yet surprisingly strong) girl that just moved in. He shuddered at the thought of another complaint from the landlord about how he was scaring off all of his tenants. 

"Not quite." She smirked. "Let's just say I'm good with needles."

The mischievous glint in her eyes did not go unnoticed. 

"As a gesture of good faith for interrupting your evening, I can have that fixed up for you."

It wasn't quite phrased as a question and he didn't have the heart to say no. If she did happen to be a threat, he was pretty sure he could take her down. Who was he to turn down a pretty lady anyway? He shrugged.

"I'll take you up on that offer, but we should probably use your place. Mine's... a bit messy."

She hummed. She'd have to clear away anything remotely eyebrow-raising and remind the kwamis to stay out of sight, but she couldn't take back her offer now.

"Deal. Come over in 10."


	3. Far from home

He honestly expected... more? Recalling how his landlord had wistfully droned on about finally getting some "upstanding looking folk around here," he knew Marinette had moved in for quite a while. And let it be known that Jason Todd would be the last to buy into the whole gender specific stereotype, but from his observations over the past month, she definitely struck him as a pink everything type of gal; vision boards, fairy lights, and all. He shudders at the last time Babs came over for an apartment "makeover."

Glancing around the room, he notices instead, that it is completely devoid of any decorations. His own place isn't exactly the most welcoming, but even he manages to make his hell-hole somewhat personable. Dick had commissioned him a sign to hang over his room, "Welcome to the Gun Show" with a picture of himself in a muscle tee. Alfred made sure to put up a few photos that he didn't have the heart (or audacity) to take down (one way or another Alfred would find out and reprimand him). And if you squinted, the smattering of bullet rounds and cartridges could probably pass off as eccentric knickknacks. 

"I like what you've done to the place." 

"Thanks. Minimalism is all the rage now." 

He smirks. She has quite the sharp tongue.

"Do you even actually live here? Place looks untouched." 

She looks up from disinfecting the needle. 

Jesus. 

Those eyes. 

You would think he's seen enough of those 'ticket-to-being-adopted-into-the-Wayne-family' blues, but hers? He wouldn't mind drowning in them. 

"Actually I broke in, got hungry, and decided to make myself some cookies. Then I thought hmmm, bet I could balance out my karma by sharing said cookies," she deadpans. 

"Does that make me your accomplice?"

"Of course. The cookies are a bribe." She mimes zipping up her lips. His eyes follow the action, lingering. Damn her.

"And if I try to turn you in, you'll stab me with your needle?"

"Precisely. Now let me see your shoulder properly."

Shrugging off his jacket he realizes how right she was. He had done a terrible job, but to be fair, the shoulder wasn't exactly the easiest place to reach.

She taps her chin pensively, observing the wound. 

"Can you take off your shirt?" 

"Shouldn't you take me out on a date firss-"

She presses down on his collar bone causing him to hiss.

"Not broken and the salve will help with the bruising, but stitching will hurt like a b*tch. Think you can handle it?"

"Do your worst." 

"Excuse you, I will do my best. Now, lift your right arm." She scoots closer, fingertips grasping the front of his tee.

Jason Todd does not blush. He does, however, do a spot on impression of a deer in the headlights. 

"Would you rather me cut off your shirt?" 

"I can do it myself. I'm an adult." God, that sounded lame out loud.

"I rather you not irritate your wound." Before he can protest any further, she lifts his shirt and carefully raises it over his arm, head, and then shoulder. She avoids his gaze, but she can feel it all the same. Years of patching up her teammates (and clothes) make this easy, almost nostalgic. 

"It's not as bad as it looks." He manages a lopsided smile.

A soft smile graces her features...

***

"It's not as bad as it looks." He attempts a cheeky grin.

"Chaton!"

"It'll fix itself once you use the Cure. Stop worrying, bug."

"This isn't like the Pigeon, who knows how long this battle will take. What if-"

"You could always kiss it better." 

His eyes betrayed the playfulness of his request. He looked vulnerable, hopeful even -despite the number of times she had shot him down. But that was her Chat. Heart always on his sleeve. Love always laid bare. And maybe it was the adrenaline of the fight or the shock from seeing Chat take yet another blow for her, but for the first time she thought 'what if'?

She leaned in...

***

"You weren't kidding about it hurting like a b*tch." 

So much for being an adult.

"Does baby need a break?" She coos.

"Baby needs a shot of whiskey." 

"Did you just refer to yourself as baby?"

"Not my favorite pet name, but I'll take it." 

"First off, I would never use baby as a pet name. Second, you have to earn pet names and I just met you." She paused for a beat. 

"I just realized, I don't even know your name."

"Jason. Jason Todd."

"Did you just make a Bond reference?" 

"Maybe."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To clarify, Marinette's place is undecorated, not because she's hiding anything from Jay (aside from the Guardian box), but because she's struggling with a sense of belonging and I wanted to show that physically. Leaving Paris and coming to Gotham was her way of distancing herself from the memories and trauma. The contrast between her creative nature and blank slate of an apartment, can be interpreted in many ways (I obviously have my own reasons), but you can decide for yourself.
> 
> As always, comments appreciated!


	4. It should have been you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First meeting between Red Hood & Ladybug

"I don't have time for this. Now give me the drop-off location, or I'll be dropping you off the side of the tallest skyscraper I can find."

BANG. 

Well f*ck. She can just ignore it and finish up her interrogation. There are other heroes in Gotham. Maybe it's a blown circuit. Or a firework? Americans love fireworks, don't they?

BANG. BANG. BANG.

She sighs. The States really needs better gun control. Rolling her eyes, she tightens the zip tie just enough to be uncomfortable and drags him into the nearest alleyway, tossing him into a somewhat empty dumpster. The thought of fishing him out makes her gag, but she figures the stench might serve as pseudo torture in the meantime. 

Swinging in the direction of the gunshots, she prays this is just another robbery. 

***

There are corpses everywhere, drenched in pools of blood. While they don't exactly look like civilians, the thought of so many lives lost, none of which can be brought back via Miraculous, is still chilling and sets her teeth on edge. Her own heartbeat grows thunderous, thrumming in her ears. 

The more she walks, the more she finds. So many... so many bodies. Her head begins to ache as a memory slips into her consciousness. She can hear their screams. The sirens in the distance. His maniacal laughter. Her vision blurs. In-two-three-four-five, out-two-three-four-five, just as Luka had instructed. Breathe, dammit, breathe. Her throat is closing. Why can't she breathe?! 

She feels a hand on her shoulder and suddenly the intruder is sprawling on the ground. If she was in the right mind she would've noticed that the mask was a brilliant red, nothing like the pallid, silver that haunted her nightmares. 

"You." Her eyes widen.

"I should've killed you." She whispers.

Before he can rise, she pins him down. 

"It should've been you that night."

"Why do you get to live?" With one hand to his throat, she raises her other.

"Cataclysm." She whispers, bringing the hand down towards his mask. 

***

He inches forwards carefully, observing. She's probably harmless, he thinks to himself -tiny compared to his own six foot five stature. Maybe a teenager playing hero? Wouldn't be the first he's come across. 

"Miss?" 

She doesn't seem to hear him, lost in her thoughts. He narrows his eyes, is she shivering? He gets closer. 

Oh, she's hyperventilating. That's never a good sign. 

"Miss." He tries again, but fails to get her attention. He reaches over to tap her shoulder lightly. Before he can even utter another syllable, he feels himself get lifted off the ground. 

"What the-"

She slams him into the ground like a Snap Pop. Definitely not harmless, more likely a meta. 

"C'est vous." 

That is not English. Italian? French, maybe?

"Je vous aurais tué." 

That one he kind of recognizes. Demon Spawn says it all the time, in just about as many languages as he knows (which is to say quite a lot). 

Get in line, he almost scoffs. Wincing, he tries to get back up.

She keeps him pinned. He is both shocked and kind of impressed. He glances up and freezes. If looks could kill. 

Her pupils are blown and she's snarling, a wild animal about to tear out his throat. 

"Vous aurais dû mourir ce soir-là."

"I've already tried the dying thing. Not interested."

"Pourquoi vivez-vous pendant qu'il meurt?" 

There's no getting through to her, he realizes. He recognizes that far off look. She's reliving something and she can't snap out of it.  
A tear slips down her face as she wraps a hand around his throat.

He struggles to flip her off. Curse her inhuman strength.

"Cataclysme." 

He shuts his eyes tight.

A hand grazes his mask but nothing happens. 

That was... anti-climactic? 

She mutters to herself, "Reviens à moi. Mon chaton. Reviens à moi."

And with that, she passes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviens à moi. Mon Chaton. ~ Come back to me/Return to me. My Kitty.  
> I took a year of French in Uni, but truth be told, I have forgotten it all, so shout out to Google Translate. 
> 
> The reason Cataclysm doesn't work is because she doesn't actually have the ring on. She's experiencing a post-traumatic episode where she sees Red Hood as Hawkmoth and herself as Lady Noir. The real Hawkmoth is in prison. In this au, Ladybug's M.O. does not involve killing (much like Batman), which will be a point of contention for Jasonette. 
> 
> As always, comments appreciated!


	5. Sweet Nothings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ah yes the original pairing that got me into the fandom in the first place! I've had this prompt in my head for a few years now, and I thought Daminette fit it perfectly. This can be read as either a fluff piece or an angst piece. See end of chapter if you're curious as to what version is my favorite! As always comments appreciated!

The rain is pitter-pattering and the sky is a morose, gray. Her feet are resting in his lap as he absent-mindedly flips through another file. Jagged Stone is playing softly as her pencil scratches away at the well-worn sketch-book. Every so often, Alfred hops up onto the arm of the couch, nudging her hand. She obliges and smiles. If only Damien could be this affectionate, she muses. She's told him this on multiple occasions. His response is always a 'Tt' while his ears betray a faint blush.

This has become their new normal. 

His phone pings. It's rare for Drake to text, even if it's purposefully to encroach on his time with the petite Parisian. He glances at the screen, annoyed.

'She knows.'

Two words are all it takes for his world to come crashing down. His grip on the phone tightens. 

"For how long?"

The bluenette lets out an exasperated sigh. 

"We just put them in the oven. How impatient can you be?" 

It's always been too easy with her. And now he knows why. This was all part of her plan and he had walked right into it, unarmed and unaware. What a fool. He had always known that this was too good to be true, but what were her motives? Was she one of Joker's goons? When she savagely tore apart each and every super villains' costume choices, was it all a ploy? 

Marinette, of course, unaware of the inner turmoil raging within her friend(?), looks up from her sketchbook and smirks. For someone so stoic and straight-laced, she hadn't thought the Ice Prince could have such a sweet tooth. Then again, not many could turn down the baking of a Dupain-Cheng. She sighs again for good measure and pushes off from the couch. 

"I have some cafe madeleines I was saving for Tim. If you're that desperate, I suppose he wouldn't notice." 

And to think she had his brothers curled around her fingertips. Even his father. 

"Would you like it with some tea? I think I still have some of that fancy stuff Alfred gave me. 

Even Alfred. To be bested by a teenager, if only his mother could see him now. 

"Damian? Earth to Damian."

He flinches. 

"Pardon?"

She raises an eyebrow. 

"Wow, looks like you really do need a sugar fix." 

She taps her chin in thought. Maybe she could whip up something with fresh fruit. Strawberries were in season and she seems to recall his penchant for them. 

"How does a strawberry tart sound?"

She even knows his favorite fruit. This is more dangerous than he thought. Did she have a profile on him? Cameras? Wiretaps? Just how much did she know? And what would she use this information for? Extortion?

"Stay here, you'll only make a mess of the kitchen. I'll be back in a few." 

She stumbles on her fluffy, bunny sandals (a gift, courtesy of Jason), and catches herself from tumbling down the stairs. Her clumsiness is a clever tactic. He has always found the disparity between her gymnast-like grace and klutzy antics to be jarring. Now it all makes sense. 

He takes this opportunity to do a quick scan of her room. He finds nothing, but a camera could be easily hidden on her person. Dialing Tim, he tries to control his breathing. Now is not the time for hysterics. Even if she is dangerous, she is hardly a threat to someone as skilled as himself. 

"Who is she working for?" 

"What?"

"Likely an informant, hardly spy material. Unless-" 

"Chill Demon Spawn. Just because she knows your identity, doesn't mean she's a super-villain." 

"Drake, don't be a dolt. Surely even you can connect the dots. A Parisian uprooting her life for inspiration in Gotham? Attendance at the Wayne Gala during her first week, a coincidence? Her calling is clearly crime, not cross-stitching." 

"Her attendance as a personal designer, of which she has held this position years before she even considered coming to Gotham, is not out of the ordinary. And let's not forget that it was you who convinced her to stay. You and I both read her profile, she had a rough time in Paris and her sponsor is none other than THE Jagged Stone. I think you're looking too deeply into this." 

"Then enlighten me. How could she have found out and why hasn't she ever mentioned it? Why else would she withhold this secret if not for nefarious purposes?" 

"I'm not a meta Damian, I can't read her mind. Why don't you just ask her? If you're that worried, I can send Jason or Dick over for back-up."

He scoffs. As if he would need the aid of his meddlesome brothers for information extraction. He is the son of an assassin and detective. He can handle someone who can hardly reach his shoulder. 

"No need." 

***FLASHBACK TO THEIR FIRST MEETING***

He pushes the curtain aside and is instantly met with a rush of cold air. Finally, some peace and quiet. The incessant buzzing of the pesky mosquitoes was starting to get under his skin. His father had instructed him to 'play nice,' considering his future position within the company and its many charitable endeavors, but he could only shake so many hands without wanting to furiously sanitize them. Leaches, the lot. 

He inhales another breath before he notices a blur of movement out of his peripheral. 

"Sorry, I can leave if you'd like." 

He winces. If anything he should be the one to leave, but the vibrations of his phone warn him that at least one of his brothers (or worse his father) is looking for him. 

"Really, it's not a problem. It looks like you need this balcony more than I do. It's relaxing out here, you should stay." 

It's like she can read his mind. Still, he can already sense Alfred frowning. 'Master Wayne, is that any way to treat a lady.'

"You can stay. You were here first. I will go." 

"I don't mind the company." 

He pauses. 

"So long as you don't ask where my accent is from. Or where my parents are from. Or worse, say that I'm exotic." She seems to shudder at the last one. 

"French. Eurasian descent. And you are human, not a creature, the term exotic is ill-fitting." 

He was trained to be perceptive and fluent in several languages. And as socially inept as he was, he would never be so crude to use such a descriptor. 

She hunches her shoulders and for a moment he fears she will cry. To his utter surprise, she bubbles over in a fit of giggles. He stiffens, staring at her with wide eyes, which only makes her giggle even harder. He takes this moment to observe her more closely. Her hair has fallen out of its complex up do and her dress is slightly disheveled, but he recognizes her all the same. 

He had noticed her when she first waltzed in: poised, but hardly pompous, which considering the Gala's typical crowd -made her stand out like a sore thumb. In fact, she seemed slightly in awe of the grandeur; quite literally vibrating with excitement. How childish. And wherever he turned, he caught sight of her, flitting about, exchanging pleasantries and infecting others with her said childish laughter. Truly menial. 

A miniscule a part of him (and he would never admit it) loathed how easily she worked the room. He grit his teeth. It would be a lie if he didn't envy how easily Grayson befriended strangers or how confidently Drake could strike up a conversation. Even Todd's lack of tact could be passed off as 'roguish charm.' And don't get him started on the one and only Bruce Wayne. To think he was the only one with the Wayne genes. You would never be able to tell. 

And so, he actively avoided coming in contact with this irritatingly, happy-go-lucky, social butterfly. That is, until, now.

“Care for a cookie?”

He thought it strange for her to produce it from the folds of her dress, but he wasn’t going to pretend to understand women or their clothing capabilities. And try as he may, he couldn’t bring himself to reject the offer. For one, he saw it as a gesture of good faith since he had already intruded. For another, he hadn’t eaten all evening and the morsel smelled heavenly. 

He accepted the offering with a mumbled thanks.

The silence was not as unbearable as usual, but he felt intrigued by her change in demeanor. 

“Are you... alright?”

“Hm? Oh, yea, I just came out here for a breather. This isn’t really my scene.”

“You could’ve fooled me. You make it seem... effortless.”

“Is that what it looks like?” She chuckles with a hint of bitterness.

“Definitely not effortless. I mean I’ve always paid attention to detail, comes with the job description, but reading social cues? It’s become something like a survival skill. Got a lot of practice.”

She grimaces.

“The practice is paying off. I’m actually kind of jealous.”

She turns her gaze towards the night sky and smiles wistfully.

“Being a people pleaser doesn’t mean people like you. It means you tell them what they want to hear.”

“So you lie?”

She shrugs half-heartedly. 

“My intentions are genuine, whether the opinions I voice are my actual beliefs -I’m not so sure anymore. I got so busy remolding myself into what fit others best that I forgot what shape I was to begin with.”

“Why bother?”

“Because deep down everyone just wants to be understood. Sometimes all it takes is just one person to go…”

She turned to face him

“All of your troubles, all of your feelings, all of your fears -they are valid. I understand and you’re not alone.”

He held her gaze and for a split second, he believed her. He wanted to. He saw the stars in her eyes, counted them, drowned in them, and wished for a moment -that it were true.

He reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

She leaned into his touch. 

“Then why do you sound so lonely?”

***BACK TO PRESENT***

“You knew?”

“That you liked strawberries? Yea, it was hard to miss you nearly tearing off Jason’s arm for stealing one off your shortcake last week.”

She looks up, sapphires sparkling with mischief. 

Does she know how dangerous they are? How they pull him in like a siren calls to a sailor at sea? The flour on her nose, is that on purpose too? 

His heart is aching and he’s beginning to wonder if she slips poison into the pastries. Perhaps that’s the reason he can’t stop eating them. That must be why he keeps coming back. Would he experience withdrawal if he stopped? He tried to imagine his life without them, without her and...

He could always pretend he didn’t know. He didn’t want to think about how much of everything they’d gone through was a lie. After all, what was it that she said when they first met? “Tell them what they want to hear”? 

***TWO YEARS LATER***

“Good morning, Sleepy.”

“I may be short, but I’m not a dwarf. If anything I’m Snow White. Tim should be Sleepy.” She huffed. “And you would most certainly be Grumpy.”

He smirks. 

“Well, being with you makes me Happy.”

Last week she had roped him and the rest of his family into watching the Disney classics. He wanted to explain that assassin training didn’t exactly include fairytales and happy endings, but settled for an “I had a strict upbringing.”

“No excuse,” she reprimanded.

And since no one in the Wayne household ever had the heart to say no to her, thus began the movie night tradition.

She hits his shoulder in mock disgust, “you’re turning into Dick. Who for the record is definitely Dopey.”

His smirk widens into a saccharine smile, 

“Mirror mirror on the wall,

Who’s the fairest of them all?”

She tries and fails to suppress a giggle as he cups her face with his hands.

“Lips two fallen petals  
Hair the midnight sky  
Voice calls like a siren  
As stars swim in her eyes”

She leans into his touch.

“I love you.”

She tells him what he wants to hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are multiple ways this one-shot could go: (off screen) 
> 
> 1\. Fluff: He ends up confronting her and she reveals that she discovered his identity while she met him as Ladybug. In doing so, she reveals her secret. They confide in one another and come to realize that they aren't alone in this after all. This is the honesty is the best policy route.  
> 2\. Angst: Damian has always struggled with forming relationships and out of fear of finding an answer he won't be able to live with, he decides to continue living the lie. Even if it kills him inside. Marinette, however, wants to tell him the truth, but thinks that she will lose his trust and risk ruining their relationship. She understands what it's like for someone to love the mask, but know nothing about the person behind it. This is the I hate myself route.  
> 3\. Angst AU: Marinette is in fact a spy (Code Name: Ladybug) who successfully cons the Wayne family, but in doing so, also manages to fall in love with Damian. She continues to lie to him and Damian is torn between believing her or listening to his gut. His hesitation leads to someone in the Batfam nearly dying. This is the star-crossed lovers route.
> 
> Personally, I'm going with #2 because as I've said, I hate myself. (But also I'm such a sucker for bitter-sweet angst. Tell me which way you think the story unfolds!


	6. Trading Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tada! Another Daminette fic because who else can I project my rom/com daydreams onto? For background, Damian is visiting Paris with his father for a few weeks (on a Wayne business venture). Marinette is still a fashion designer, this is just her side business (bc ya gurl needs funds). 
> 
> This fic stems from two ideas:  
> 1- A lot of people have had crushes on Marinette/she is so easily shippable (check out the easter eggs in the 'anonymous reviews'!)  
> 2- I wish this service existed/was easily accessible -the perfect fake girlfriend for your first love, rebound, sexuality-exploring, etc etc. 
> 
> See end of chapter for my ramblings and as always, comments appreciated!

“This is a terrible idea.”

“We’ve done worse.”

“He’ll kill us.”

“It’ll be worth it."

“He’ll never fall for this.”

“You don’t know that.”

“This is Demon Spawn we’re talking about, remember? Until a few years ago, he couldn’t even exchange words without lacing them with venom -literally.”

The Bat boys collectively shuddered.

“So… I guess we’re doing this?”

They scrolled through the website’s reviews:

~ Completed Stories ~

Dark Cupid: I was in a real bitter place and all I wanted to do was get revenge for my broken heart. She healed me. I have her to thank for finding the love of my life. 

Super Nathan: She’s beautiful and sweet and perfect. She will always be my first love. 

The Next Speilberg: I’ve never been good with the ladies -acted like a real moronosaurus. God, I was so lame. She gave me the courage to finally ask out the woman of my dreams. 

Ice Queen: I only ever made time to practice noble arts like archery or fencing, but being with her? It makes you want to freeze time. 

Second Chance: She’s an extraordinary girl, clear as a music note, sincere as a melody -like a song that you can’t stop hearing as soon as you first meet her. With her, I thought, I might just give love a second chance.

~ Find me in the heart of the City of Love for the start of our love story. ~

\- Click here for directions –

***

“Demon Spawn, you got a solo mission tonight.”

“What for? This isn’t Gotham. Surely, Paris has their own vigilantes.”

“Just a recon op. And ditch the uniform, the Bats can’t be seen here.”

“Fine, but it better be quick. I haven’t fed Titus yet.” 

“Location sent. Remember, don’t alarm any civilians. Proceed with caution.”

“This isn’t my first mission Drake; I think I can manage gathering intel without drawing blood.”

***

The cold blade pressed against her pale neck.

“Who are you and how do you know my name?” 

She raises an eyebrow, but otherwise appears to be perfectly calm.

“This isn’t how first sessions usually go. Are you into roleplay or something?”

A muffled snicker comes through his comms. 

“Lil D, put the weapon down. We set you up for a blind date.”

“Way to make a first impression.”

“Memorable at the very least.”

“Cutthroat some might say.”

He grits his teeth. 

“Believe it or not, I’ve had worse.” She laughs. It sounds like the tinkling of windchimes. He is momentarily at a loss for words, or thoughts, it seems.

Two seconds later, the Damian Wayne -son of Batman and protégé of the League of Assassins, was found lying on the hardwood floor, staring up at the ceiling. 

A smiling face looks down at him.

“How about I make us some tea?”

***

“So then what’s the difference between you and a harlot?”

“Everything… and nothing.” She drags her fingertip across the edge of the teacup. 

“What makes a lawyer different from a street performer? A carpenter from an architect? Are we not all traders of the craft? Masters of the act?” 

She lifts the amber liquid to her lips and blows gently before taking a sip. 

“In that way, I suppose I am no different from a harlot -spare the fact that they deal in lust, as I do with love.” 

“What you sell is a lie, not love.”

Her lips tug into a smirk. 

“We read fairytales for their happy endings and watch movies for heroes to swoop in and save the day. It gives us something to believe in. I give them something to believe in.”

“And then you disappear.”

“Heartbreak is an important part of love.”

“Because love is fickle. It is a weakness.” 

“True and true. But if you think that’s all there is to love, then you are doing yourself a disservice.” 

She picks up a sugar cube, holding it up to the light. 

“Love may be fickle, but what is life without ups and downs? The greater the hardship, the sweeter the reward.” 

She places the sugar cube onto her tongue and allows it to dissolve slowly as she faces the bustle of the street. A moment passes before she whispers.

“Love is both a weakness and a strength - a double-edged sword.”

“I find that steel is far more dependable for a weapon.”

She turns back to him with a mischievous sparkle in her eye.

“While I don’t doubt your abilities, I think you underestimate love.” 

He scoffs. 

“Let me clarify, I do not underestimate anything. Everything is always within my calculations. And love has proven time and time again, to be disappointing.” 

“Which is why Fate brought you here.”

“Do you have an answer to everything?”

“I’ve met many non-believers. You are not the first nor will you be the last.”

His icy blues narrow in frustration.

“I refuse to play a part in this farce.” 

“Then don’t.” She shrugs.

“Your sessions are paid for. I will show up to them as promised because I am a good girlfriend. Whether or not you show up is up to you. If you don’t appear, I will have been stood up by my god-awful boyfriend and stress-eat to my heart’s content, on your dime of course. If you do, then we will start the first chapter of our love story.” 

He stares blankly at her, a part of him still in disbelief that this was even happening. 

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“That’s my cue, cherie.” She leans in to peck him on the cheek before opening the door. 

He stands up abruptly and manages to make his way through the entrance unscathed, despite his dazed state.

“See you next week,” she sings, as she slams the door -right into his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, if I had more brain cells and willpower, I would LOVE to write out the fake dates gameplan for them, but for now this will have to do (I may revisit it). 
> 
> I think for the first date, Damian initially refuses to go, but ends up observing her from afar. He'll end up caving eventually (maybe because someone's harassing her, but she ends up saving herself before he can) OR one of the bat bros shows up to the date bc they feel bad (but also they're kind of curious about her) and it makes Damian annoyed (for reasons he can't explain) so he crashes the date.
> 
> For the last date, I still want them to 'break up' so that he gets a taste of heartbreak. From there it's up to you! Either Marinette shows up in Gotham to ask him out on a real date or Damian signs himself back up, but for 'duration,' instead of putting 'three weeks' he puts 'always and forever' or some cheesy bullsh*t. Or maybe you're cruel, and that's the end of their story. 
> 
> Let me know if you can think of any cute date ideas/alternate endings!


	7. Wedding Crashers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 of my first ever Timinette fic! Fun fact, this is a reworked story from a creative writing course I took in Uni back in the day. It was tough deciding on which Bat Boy to use, but I figured that our coffee addict (and MDC fan acc to fanon) would be perfect for this meet-cute! There won't be any Adrien salt since they're all still friends (sometimes love is about timing and luck). 
> 
> I'm especially excited to share this one (if I am ever to produce a rom-com it will be based on this), so please feel free to comment/let me know your thoughts!

They bump into each other -literally. 

He spills his coffee.

She ruins her dress.

She offers to buy him coffee.

He laughs at the fact that she’s more concerned over his coffee than her ruined dress.

He hands her a handkerchief. 

She smiles bittersweetly as she tries to salvage the tulle. 

“Maybe this was the sign I was looking for.”

“What do you mean?” 

He takes off his coat and drapes it across her shoulders. 

“Someone dared me to crash a wedding.”

She mumbles, face flushed -either from the sweet gesture or the awkward admission (most likely both). 

“Oh geez, who dared you to do that?”

A fierce flame flickers in her blue eyes. 

“I did.”

And like a moth -

“Is it too late to take you up on that coffee?”

***

“So, let me get this straight, your best friend is marrying the love of your life, who used to love you, but didn’t know it was you that he loved because he thought the person he loved was your best friend. Did I get that right?”

“Exactly. You’re probably the only other person in the world who can make sense of my rambling.”

He shrugs.

“I’ve been told I’m a genius.”

“Was the person who told you, by any chance, yourself?”

“Takes one to know one.” He flashes her a lopsided grin before taking a long sip of his coffee. 

“And you’re crashing this wedding because …you’re a masochist? Sorry, that’s the only reason I can think of.”

She lowers her head and tightens her grip on the cup. Her eyebrows are furrowed and her shoulders are hunched in a defensive position.

It doesn’t take being a detective to notice the tics. As a gentleman raised by none other than Alfred Pennyworth, he knows better than to pry (despite his aching curiosity). Maybe he can distract her? Make a joke? What would Dick do in this situation?

Her teeth bite slowly into her plush, pink lip. 

A different form of distraction pops into mind. 

No. 

Bad Tim. 

Before he can allow his thoughts to wander any further, she lets out a sigh. 

“Well technically I have an invitation. It’s just that no one expects me to go, but I know they want me there. They’ve been not so subtly begging me since I quote, ‘am the one that brought them together in the first place’.”

“Well that’s awfully selfish of them.”

“Or maybe it’s selfish of me -to use this opportunity to get some closure.”

“I still think you’re a masochist.”

She glances up at him with a look of indignation.

“I bought you coffee, shouldn’t you be nicer?”

“If I replace your dress, will you admit it?”

She bursts out into laughter and for a split-second Tim wonders if he can bottle it. Might even be stronger than Joker Venom since he has no idea what’s so funny, but he can’t seem to fight off the goofy grin on his face. 

“Good luck with that.” She wipes at the corners of her eyes. 

“Are you doubting my connections?” It was Tim’s turn to give a look of indignation. CEO of Wayne Enterprises -son of Bruce Wayne? Red Robin? The best damn Boy Wonder the streets of Gotham have ever seen? Stumped by a dress? Not in this universe.

“Doubting mine,” she exhales. 

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

“I said it’s one of a kind. Besides, by the time I get a new dress, my friends would have already left for the party. And there’s no way I’m going by myself, I barely scraped enough courage to go at all.”

“Were you allowed a plus one?”

She nods, looking distractedly out the window.

“But anyone I could have asked already had an invitation.”

He points to himself with a wry smile. 

She turns to face him and blinks. And then blinks again. He can’t possibly be suggesting...

“Bring me.”

Merde, he really was.

“No.”

“Why not? I’ve been told I’m amazing company.”

“Was the person who told you the same as the one who called you a genius?” 

“No, but even if it was, doesn’t change the fact that it’s true.”

“Why would you go to a wedding between complete strangers?” 

“Why would you go to a wedding between your best friend and first love?”

“Because I’m a masochist.”

He bursts out laughing and try as she might, she can’t stop herself from joining.

“Think of it as compensation for the dress.”

“In exchange for a cup of coffee?”

“You clearly don’t know how important coffee is to me.”

“I hardly know you at all.”

He looks down at his watch. 

“When’s the wedding?”

“Well I’ve already missed the start of the ceremony, but the reception doesn’t start for another two hours.”

“Well then you have two hours to get to know me,” he holds out his hand.

“Timothy Jackson Drake, at your service.”

She looks at him in disbelief but reluctantly shakes it.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I can’t believe I’m doing this.” 

“Well Marinette, let’s go get you a dress.”

***

“You’re ruining my whole fairy godmother plan.”

She giggles as the lights flicker on. Beelining for the back room, she leaves Tim to wander the store.

He cards his fingers through the racks of clothes. He’s no fashion expert, but he does have an eye for detail and each piece proves to be exquisitely made. While they all seem unique, they also strike him as oddly familiar. Where has he seen these before? His train of thought is utterly derailed as the curtains sweep aside.

He drops the suit jacket he had been holding, along with his jaw. 

“What do you think?” 

She does a little spin, unbeknownst to the widening eyes of a very star struck young man who was struggling to put more than two words together.

“Good. Great. You look great. The dress I mean. And obviously the person in the dress. Not that the dress wouldn’t look great on a hanger or that you wouldn’t look great without the dress. I mean-“

Someone kill him. Put him out of his misery. Where was Demon Spawn when he needed him?!?

“Thank you,” she beams.

“It’s not quite finished, but I’m pretty proud of this one! I’ve been experimenting with lace and...”

He nods every so often, but truth be told, he can’t hear a single word. The dress is pooled around her, spare for the slit running up along her milky thighs. He wonders what it would feel like, sliding his hands over the silk, slipping his fingers under-

“And tada! It’s got pockets!” 

His gaze snaps up from her legs. 

“Pockets, right, wow. I love pockets.” Since when did he revert to being a teenage boy with uncontrollable hormones? Maybe this was a terrible idea. He should probably leave before he manages to embarrass himself any further. When was the earliest flight back to Gotham?  
“Right? I try to include them in all of my designs.” 

The realization strikes him like lightning. No wonder it all looked so familiar.

“You’re MDC.”

She raises an eyebrow and tilts her head -a gesture that manages to be both suggestive and adorable at the same time.

“You know my work?”

“I’ve been on your waitlist for months.” 

She winces. She had put off all orders in preparation of the wedding and then there were still costumes for Jagged’s upcoming world tour, not to mention her other numerous commissions...

“I can’t believe I’m seeing MDC in the flesh. I had coffee with MDC. Oh my god, I ruined an MDC original-“

Before he could spiral any further she pushed the suit she had brought out for him into his hands. 

“And tonight you’ll be wearing an MDC original. Now hurry up and get changed. We have a wedding to crash.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 will be kind of hard to write bc even though I jotted down a ton of ideas, it was more of a workshop piece where I got to ramble on about how it would've been shot as a movie. (Another fun fact, I came up with this plot when I had a huge Ben Barnes phase so that's who I had originally intended for this role. Try to imagine him as Tim Drake for funsies!)


	8. UnMasked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit background plot heavy, but I thought it'd be fun to see more of Tim's POV in terms of why he became enchanted with MDC while giving a bit of insight on the similarity of their lives as heroes/vigilantes. He may have successfully unmasked the fashion designer, but how will he react once he learns that she has yet another secret identity?

This was a terrible idea. 

And while Marinette Dupain Cheng was no stranger to terrible ideas, she liked to think that her years of being a superhero would have turned her into a more responsible, level-headed individual. It would seem, however, that old habits die hard.

“So, what’s the plan?” 

“That’s the thing,” she groaned, head planted directly into her palms. “There is no plan.”

“Spontaneous, I like it.” 

Timothy Jackson Drake was not prone to reckless decisions. In fact, out of all the Bat boys, he was probably the very last to rush into a mission without a backup plan to the backup plan, but there was something oddly exhilarating about meeting his hero -in the city of love, no less. And he was taking her out on a date! (Well not exactly a date. He was more like a nosy outsider, desperate to find a way into her life.) But still. 

***

They always told him ‘never meet your heroes’, but Tim was sure that Marinette blew his expectations for MDC out of the water. He can still remember the first time he ever saw her work. It was during Gotham Fashion Week and the theme, to no one’s surprise, was yet again Heroes v. Villains. And as luck would have it, the Waynes were seated front and center. 

It’s as if he was back at the circus all over again -eyes wide at the magnificent leaps and flips of the world-renown Flying Graysons. He didn’t quite understand what that butterfly feeling in the pit of his stomach meant until he donned the cape of Boy Wonder himself. It was the adrenaline of flight, of being a master of an art -so much so that you lose yourself within it, leaving you with the question of:

“How did I ever go so long without it?” 

She breathes life into her designs. 

Rather than traditional supermodels, this show had specifically recruited trained athletes -stunt doubles, acrobats, and ballet dancers. Their runway was rigged from sparring matts made to look like the asphalt of the crime ridden streets of Gotham, with well-placed lampposts and fences for vaulting. It was not unlike a play, what with their staged fights and over the top narration. 

And boy was that narration an absolute treat. A petite, masked woman with a slight French accent, mercilessly tore into both hero and villain alike. 

“The true crime here is the color palette. I’d take clashing swords over clashing colors any day of the week.” 

“I now understand why he goes by Joker. His sad excuse of a costume? Laughable.”

And his personal favorite? 

“When stealth is key, one would think not to dress like a walking traffic light, but alas, it seems that all signs of fashion sense are pointing to a bright red STOP.” 

By the end of the night, Tim had just about experienced the full range of human emotion -from being awestruck at the sheer ingenuity of the show to surprise at how realistic the fight sequences looked to envy at how stylish yet practical the outfits seemed to full body laughter at the brazen commentary. It had truly been a pity that the fashion designer abstained from attending (or so he had thought at the time). After all, MDC was known for their mystery. Backed by none other than Audrey Bourgeois, Gabriel Agreste, and Jagged Stone, they were heralded as the up and coming of all things avante garde. 

Dare to Be Your Everyday Superhero.

A sense of justice with a sense of style.

MDC believed that there was no distinction between a civilian and a hero. To limit yourselves based on your perception of what you can and should do is to do yourself and society, a disservice. 

“Heroes are not all good. Villains are not all bad. Civilians are not powerless and bullies are not all powerful. If a mask is all it takes for you to find that sense of justice, that courage? Then let us do it with style. Let us give you that power.”

***

Who would’ve thought that sassy fireball would be MDC in the flesh? If she didn’t look like she was about to pass out from stress, he really would’ve been tempted to badger her with his million questions -like who choreographed those fight sequences and how did she know which areas of the body were vulnerable and needed more protection or did she really think Batman looked like Count Dracula with a horned beetle for a head. What did she think of Red Robin’s costume? Or Red Robin in general? 

She lets out another groan. “You’re awfully relaxed for someone who’s about to be put under a microscope.”

He shrugs. “I’ve had my fair share of experience avoiding reporters and paparazzi.”

She narrows her eyes slightly. Tim had mentioned that he was some sort of entrepreneur from the States and that he had come to Paris for a conference with his father, but paparazzi? Seems a bit much for a businessman.

“Oh master of evasion, I assure you, you won’t stand a chance against my friends. Or the aunties.” She shivers at the thought. “Just wait till one of those witches finds out we’re not actually together -they’ll sink their claws into you and next thing you know you’ll be saying ‘I do’ to their darling sons and daughters.” 

“You sound like you’ve had some firsthand experience.” 

She nods gravely. “Every time I come home, I somehow end up on a blind date.” 

“We can make up a cover story, pretend we’re actually together?” Or we can make it real, he wants to add. After all, nothing more foolproof than the truth. 

“It would never work. No matter what we say they’ll end up spinning it some way or other.”

“They sound worse than the paps -they can spin any rumor for the sake of a zingy headline. Not that anyone really believes them anyway.” 

“Wait. Say that again?” 

“That they’re worse than the paps?”

“No, after that.” 

“That no one believes them? I mean think about it, if every reporter starts making up their own stories for headlines, none of them will add up. Who’s to know what the lie is if no one‘s even telling the truth?”

“Oh.” The lightbulbs go off at the same time.

***

“How much creative license am I allowed here?”

“The more ridiculous, the better.” 

Tim’s grin was not unlike that of a Cheshire’s. “Challenge accepted.” 

And with that, he took her outstretched hand. 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BACKKKK. I took time off for stress and LSATs and let me tell you I am ready to dive right back into this Timinette fic (mostly because I need a distraction from awaiting my dreaded score). Next chapter is the fun one that started it all! This chapter is a bit slow, but the next one will be pretty fast paced since it has to switch POVs a lot. Bets on who comes up with the most ridiculous story!


	9. Her Personal Superhero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final installation of the Wedding Crasher AU!! Sorry for the long wait, I just had so many versions of the 'cover story' that I kept putting it off. That said, this story became more flushed out than I ever expected and I'm pretty proud of how it all turned out. Also, I wanted to make it in time for Christmas since I am truly grateful for the people that have read my stories (especially the ones that leave such thoughtful comments)! So Merry Early Christmas!!! Stay safe and warm for the holidays and hope you stick around for the next fic (working on a Jasonette one)!!
> 
> P.S. Thank you to these readers: (I tried to incorporate all of your ideas!)  
> iolightjewel   
> Bbgirl3191  
> storybuyer

They were back to back, hands drawn at the ready, eyes on all exits. 

He surveyed the room, while she prepared for backup, sending updates to Alix and Mylene.

“Remember the mission is-”

“Convince them we’re together, confuse them as to how.”

“Correct.”

“And if we split up?”

“Meet you in the rose garden.” 

“Perfect.”

“Hey Tim?” He looks at her, eyes sparkling with mischief. 

“Thank you.” He reaches over to grab her hand, kissing it gently.

“Good luck.”

***

“I was finishing that tart Ms. Chamack ordered when I realized I was out of lemons and the stores were all closed. So, what else was a girl to do, but to consort her spell -I mean cookbook. Could you believe that lemon and demon are so similar when in cursive? Next thing I know-”

“You summoned the Demon Prince!” Manon yells in excitement. She always knew Marie was magical in ways more than one. 

“My father, yes that’s the one, he was convinced I needed some self-defense training after my last kidnapper’s attempt and so he sent me to Paris. You know how Paris is, finding housing is next to impossible.” 

“Call it fate, destiny, a lemon-”

“But next thing I know I wake up in a stranger’s room. And as luck would have it this young woman needed to split rent-”

“And they were roommates!!” Rose gasps. 

“And so this stranger-”

“Demon Prince,” Manon corrected. 

“Yes, this Demon Prince, turned out to be wonderful company. And although he didn’t have any lemons with him, he did promise me three wishes. Now of course, I just so happened to have lost my most treasured memento and had thought it would never return to my side-”

“But apparently she wasn’t a stranger at all. There was a mysterious attendee at the Masquerade Gotham Gala who left behind nothing but a charm bracelet. With no name or face to remember by, I kept the bracelet with me –” 

“Like Cinderella! Oh, you found your princess!” Rose wails in unbridled glee. 

“And she found her Demon Prince.” Manon chimes in. 

“You know what they say-”

“When life gives you lemons.” Tim winks for good measure. A few cheers erupt from the crowd. 

As the crowd dies down, Kim cuts in, “You came for self-defense training right? So, who wins when you spar?” 

“Spar?” Tim is temporarily caught off guard. 

“Marie’s my training partner at the gym. You should see her on Saturdays.” 

“You spar?” He turns to Marinette in half disbelief and half awe. Just how much was this girl hiding? He thinks back to the fashion show and suddenly pieces are starting to come together. 

“Would you call it sparring if I always end up demolishing you,” Marie laughs, brushing off Kim’s question with a smirk. 

“That’s hot.” Kim shrugs. Tim agrees. In fact, he’s imagining it right now. 

“Enemies to lovers,” Rose mutters to herself. She was so far gone in her dream world there was no turning back. 

“That explains the time you tried to get the cat from out of the tree.” 

Marinette is suddenly imagining Chat caught up in her Yoyo. She holds in a giggle.

“Oh, you mean that time you attempted parkour and ripped your pants?” 

“No, I think it was the time you ended up falling and I had to save you.” 

“Well, you know me, just can’t help falling for you.” 

“Keep falling, I’ll always be there to catch you.” 

“Our everyday Ladybug gets her own superhero” Rose sighs dreamily; dramatically fainting into Juleka’s arms. 

“Everyday Ladybug?” Tim raises an eyebrow. 

“Just a nickname from our lycée days,” Mari laughs, trying to hide her blush.

Maybe MDC wasn’t the only thing Marinette was hiding. 

***

“Agreste?” 

“Wayne?” 

“You mean to tell me you knew who MDC was this entire time?” 

“Wait, hang on, how do you know Mari?”

Tim scoffs, puffing his chest slightly. 

“You have your secrets, I have mine.” 

Upon discovering MDC’s affiliation with the Agreste label, he had purposefully approached the blonde model at a charity event. After weeks of schmoozing, his efforts proved fruitless. Who knew his angel like appearance could be so deceiving? If Tim wasn’t so annoyed, he might even be a bit impressed. 

“I suppose congratulations are in order.” 

“Had I known you were in Paris; I would’ve invited you -though it seems you didn’t need an invitation after all.” 

Adrien glances at the gold threading of Tim’s breast pocket.

“An MDC original. I see you figured it out yourself.” 

“I did, no thanks to you.”

“And what are your intentions now that you do know?”

“I didn’t realize that was any of your business, Agreste.” He looks up at the banner strung magnificently across the archway.

“Or should I say Agreste-Tsurugi?”

“Mari’s one of my closest friends, if this is part of your rich playboy games-”

Tim’s eyes narrow menacingly. Taking a step forward, he smirks. 

“Unlike some people, I would never hurt her.”

“What’s that supposed to-?”

“Adrien!” Marinette tugs back Tim’s elbow with a surprising amount of force for such a petite figure. “Congratulations!” Her face lights up. He looks like everything she had ever imagined and more; hair slicked back, cheeks flushed, black tux with slight accents to match Kagami’s more traditional kimono. She was proud of how well it came out. All of those sleepless nights really paid off. 

Tim slips her hand out from his elbow and clasps it within his own. He gives it a light squeeze. How could she be smiling so brilliantly when her heart was clearly breaking? And what would he give to grab this hand and run away from here as far as possible?

“Marinette, we’re so glad you could make it”, a kimono slides into view, along with the bride herself. 

Marinette’s smile softens. They really do look like a matchmade in heaven. 

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world. You look like a dream, Gami.” 

“That came true thanks to you.” Kagami returns a shy smile of her own before turning to the mystery guest. Her eyebrows raise slightly. Perhaps, he wasn’t such a mystery after all. 

“Mr. Wayne?” 

“Please, Tim is just fine. People only ever call my father that.” He feels Marinette stiffen slightly. Well, he definitely had some explaining to do. 

***

After Tim was dragged away by Alya and her squad of vultures, Mari left to wander the gardens for some fresh air. Tikki had mentioned that her penchant for nature would grow over time as Ladybug, and it couldn’t be truer. Her fingers caressed the petals of a rose, when she heard footsteps approaching.

“Still alive? I’m surprised Alya didn’t keep you for longer-,” she stumbled in surprise, falling haphazardly into the rose bushes. 

Adrien lends her a hand, chuckling to himself. 

“This brings back memories.” 

“None pleasant, I’m sure.” She brushes herself off, cheeks aflame. 

“Actually, the opposite. I’m very fond of our lycée days. They’re some of the best memories I’ve ever made.” 

Her heart clenches. She wishes it wouldn’t. 

“Well, luckily for you, you’ll be making even fonder memories. Now that you’re starting this new journey.”

“That’s true,” he walks back over to the rose bush, gently plucks one from its stem and hands it to Mari. 

“Doesn’t replace the old ones though. Nothing can replace that.” 

He pauses, opens his mouth, as if trying to find the rights words to say. 

“I don’t want you to think I’m trying to overstep, Mari, but you’re important to me.”

Her pulse quickens.

“And just because I’m with Gami doesn’t mean I don’t see you as my partner.”

Her heart is in her throat. 

“Afterall, you’re one of my best friends.”

She freezes. Friends. It’s that word again. It shouldn’t affect her anymore, having heard it for years, but it still stings all the same.

“I don’t ever want you to get hurt.” 

If only he knew...

“And I don’t know your relationship with Wayne, but-”

“Tim.” Mari corrects. 

“Yes love, you rang?” 

***

“Would you have liked me in high school?” 

Adrien left (reluctantly) after Tim ‘bullied’ the poor groom and while she knew that wasn’t the most mature thing to do, he did kind of feel like her own personal superhero.

Oh, the irony, she giggles secretly to herself.

“Of course, I would have! Who wouldn’t?”

Though in truth, she probably only ever had eyes for Adrien, except for maybe that time with Luka, but that in itself was a mess entirely.

“You’d be the charming senior and I’d be the bright eyed freshman. You’d be the athlete turned star of the school musical and I would be-”

“And you would be the new, but undoubtedly brilliant, costume designer. And one day during practice, you would catch my eye.” 

He takes her hand and leads her to a lone bench under an arch of roses.

“I would ask you to help me practice my lines and when you ask for which part, I’d choose the kissing scene.”

“Naturally,” Marinette scoffs in an attempt to hide her amusement. 

“Naturally,” Tim affirms with a beaming grin.

“I would lean in just like this...”

He brushes aside the stray hairs, tucking it gently behind her ear.

“May I?” He asks softly. 

She blinks slowly, almost entranced. She nods.

His hand cups her face gently. Their noses brush, eyelashes flutter closed. 

It’s soft. And sweet. Her heart pounds. His other hand gravitates to her waist as the kiss deepens. Hers grip the sides of his suit jacket. That will leave a wrinkle, she thinks absently. 

They part for breath, but as he goes in for another, she pulls away.

He pauses, a look of disappointment and confusion flashes across his face, but it disappears once he notices that she is as bright as a tomato. Tim chuckles and leans in again, but this time to place a chaste kiss on her forehead.

“And then what?” The Parisian looks up at him shyly, nervously. 

“Then I would tell you that you’re the most incredible, beautiful, talented-”

“Tim-” her blush darkens.

“Then I would ask you out on a date. A proper one. One that doesn’t involve spilling coffee or crashing weddings.”

“Oh?” She quirks an eyebrow. Was this still part of the acting? 

“Then where’s the excitement in that?”

He taps his chin thoughtfully.

“What if the date was at the top of the Eiffel Tower?”

“Been there, done that.” She laughs. Using her patrol spot for a date? No thank you.

He furrows his eyebrows.

“I’m from Paris, Tim. That’s like saying I would take you to the top of Wayne Tower.” Which speaking of, he still had some explaining to do. Tim Wayne. Son of Bruce Wayne. Would you look at that?

“Actually, that’s not a bad idea.”

“What?”

“Have you ever been? I have an inkling that you’d love it. There’s nowhere quite like Gotham. Especially the Wayne Tower.”

“You want me to fly to Gotham for a first date?”

“Technically second, but yes, it can be arranged.”

“You’re insane-”

“Ly clever? Not the first time I’ve been told that either.”

“Why, do you practice saying it in front of a mirror?”

“Is that a yes?”

“It was an -I, I can’t believe I’m actually considering it.”

“Consider it as repaying the favor!” That’s right, how had he forgotten? (Actually, it was very hard to forget given how dreadfully boring and exhausting it was to attend).

“You can be my plus one to the Wayne Gala.”

“What favor? I bought you a coffee. And you ended up with an MDC original sans waitlist.”

“Then consider it as me owing you a favor which you can cash in for a third date.”

“When did we even have our first?”

“Just now.”

She’s shocked and if she was completely honest, flattered. Very flattered. 

“You’re serious?”

“Deadly.”

“You’re deadly?”

“That too.” 

“Do I get to design our outfits?”

“Full creative license,” his face splits into a wide smile.

“Challenge accepted.” 

And with that, she seals the deal with another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always find it difficult to workshop my old ideas from Uni since the nostalgia makes me hesitant to change anything, but I love how wonderfully it fit with Tim and Mari's personalities. The Easter eggs this time around were: Tim's training in Paris (canon to the comics, he does have a master in Paris) and the lemon motif which is from Agents of Shield (used as a declaration of love) and a cute meme where a lemon is summoned instead of a demon (it's an oldie but a goodie that makes me laugh every time). 
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed reading it!! I am really grateful for everyone who reads/comments on these stories. Let me know what future pairings/ideas you would like to see. (This story feels pretty complete to me, but they still have a lot of potential, so I may revisit this idea one day).


	10. Broken Bottles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette takes on the mantle of Ladybug after losing her sister (Bridgette) in the Last Battle. She moves to Gotham to sort out her feelings and ends up befriending her roommate and his family (which tada just so happens to be the Waynes). Turns out the family is bigger than she thinks and she finally gets to meet the estranged brother, Jason -who she might have more in common with than she thinks. 
> 
> Really this is just my excuse to show a vulnerable Jason Todd. And I'm such a sucker for two broken characters helping each other heal, so I couldn't not re-work this story for the Jasonette pairing. Let me know if you guys like it! Comments as always, are appreciated.

“Hey Drake, I brought that CD you wanted... what is happening?” 

Marinette had just finished her shift at the Lucky Charm and wanted nothing more than a cold beer and her warm bed. Instead, here she was, surrounded by a flurry of frazzled partygoers. Her college roommate Tim was angrily shouting on the phone. His girlfriend Steph was a sobbing mess and as per usual Damian was brooding in a corner. 

She weighs her options and decides Damian is probably her best bet. Stepping gingerly over a few passed out bodies, she manages to land herself on the seat next to him. 

“Mind clueing me in?”

“Our brother’s missing.” 

“Dick? Doesn’t he always pick up on the first ring?”

“Not that one.”

“Oh. Well, I mean Duke’s probably at some frat party.”

“Not that one either.”

“Jesus, how many of you are there?”

He pauses for a second to consider. “Actually, I’m not sure.”

“Must be nice being this close to your siblings.” A bittersweet smile graces her features. She can still remember Bridgette’s childlike laughter, the way she would sneak into Marinette’s bed when there was a thunderstorm. 

“Not really.” Damian scoffs. “It’s the first time we’ve heard from him in years.”

“Ah, the estranged one.” She vaguely recalls Tim drunkenly spouting nonsense about a brother that ran away from home and joined a gang. Who could have imagined that a billionaire would raise a delinquent son. Then again, who could ever survive under the pressure of a name like Wayne? She knew a thing or two about being the black sheep of the family. 

“So why look for him now?” Her gaze follows Tim as he paces the room back and forth.

“Jay’s best friend died. And now he’s nowhere to be found.” 

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Damian gives Marinette a once over and sighs. “No offense, but if we can’t find him, I highly doubt you can.”

“None taken,” she laughs. “Well, I’ll leave the CD here, though I doubt you’ll be needing it.” 

She ruffles Damian’s hair before heading out the door. Turning the corner, she slips into the alleyway.

“Tikki, spots on!” Even though she didn’t know a thing about Tim’s brother, she sure as hell knew what it felt like to lose your best friend. 

***

“Nice to know this place is rundown as ever.” She looks around at the overgrown bushes and rusty bracings. After coming to Gotham, this was the first place she ever called home. Every day, she would end her patrol by watching the sunrise.

She walks towards the figure, dangling his legs off the bridge. 

“Mind if I take one?” She gestures to the beer bottles. 

He blinks at her. Noticing for the first time that he isn’t alone. He doesn’t know who she is or why she’s even speaking to him.

Marinette raises an eyebrow, “well?”

He blinks. Nods silently. Numbly. 

She flicks off the cap with her yoyo, takes a large gulp, and lets out a refreshed, “Ah.” Exactly what she needed. 

“Who are you?”

“Does it matter?”

He doesn’t know if it does.

She chugs the rest of the beer as he stares back out at the water silently. She grabs another and hands it to him before reaching for one for herself.

Before long, the crate of beer is finished between the two of them. She stands up and brushes off her jeans. He looks up, startled by her sudden movements. Mari lifts the crate. 

“Wanna go break some bottles?”

He doesn’t know why, but he does. He nods again as she hands him the box. “Good.” He follows her as she climbs back over the edge of the bridge, leading him to a large, fallen iron beam.

Taking a bottle from the box he’s still holding, she grips it by the neck and flicks her wrist, sending it flying against the metal. A satisfying ring of broken glass echoes into the night. She gives a holler of delight. 

Then she takes the box from his hands, placing it on the ground. Taking another bottle, she places his fingers onto its neck and gestures to do the same. 

He looks at her and then the bottle in his hand. Stepping back, he raises his arm to swing and the bottle flies through the air. Mari cheers as it smashes. He doesn’t, but he does let out a huff of air he hadn’t realized he was holding. Eyes wide, he stares at her, breathing heavily. 

A beaming smile is on her face as she hands him another. 

“Batter up.”

Bottle after bottle. The shattering glass pierces the air. Each bottle is met with a resounding holler of triumph that he eventually joins in on. 

Reaching for the last bottle, he misses the beam completely. Instead of hitting metal, it continues soaring through the air and into the water below. 

Trying desperately to stop herself, she lets out a snort. She glances up at him and blinks dumbly. He looks at her, struggling to contain a fit of giggles and let’s out a snort himself. The both of them burst into laughter until tears threaten to spill. His, however, do end up spilling. And for a while they don’t stop. 

She goes over to him, whispering softly, “Can I hug you?”

Peaking through the hands covering his face, he let’s out a choked, “please.”

Inching towards him slowly, she wraps her arms around him. In turn, he pulls her into a bear hug, no longer bothering to hide the sobs as he places his head on her petite shoulders. Gently combing her fingers through his hair, she repeats the mantra, “it’s okay” over and over until his sobs lessen to sniffles. 

Her phone rings. They must’ve gotten her text messages despite the nearly non-existent service out here. She lifts it to her ear, but continues to stroke his tresses, “He’s fine. We’re just drinking. I’ll text you in a bit.” After hanging up, he raises his head off her shoulder. Their faces are close. Mari takes in his mussed up hair, swollen red eyes, and quivering brow. 

He’s seeing her just now, finally taking in her features. The moonlight is reflected in the blue pools of her eyes and for a second he stops thinking. His eyes drift to her sad smile, the lips slightly pouted. He wants to be comforted. But he knows he shouldn’t. Then it hits him -he doesn’t even know who this masked stranger is. 

Reluctantly removing his arms from her sides, he backs away, clumsily wiping at his face. He lets out a mumbled “sorry” while focusing his attention on the ground. Retrieving the tissues, she grabbed earlier, she softly wipes away the remaining tears. 

“I wasn’t going to do it,” he whispers.

“I know.”

“Sorry,” he apologizes again, still whispering. 

“Don’t apologize.” She caresses his cheek. 

“You lost someone. Someone who meant the world to you and yet for some reason - the world kept spinning, as if nothing had changed. There’s nothing wrong with looking for answers, looking for reasons, looking for the right thing to do or feel. But there isn’t any right way. You’re doing what you can. And that’s enough.” 

Another sob wracks through his body as he curls into her, accepting her warmth. Eventually he slips into slumber. 

***

“Not that I’m not over the moon that you’re back, but damnit Jay, just how many boxes do you have?” 

“I can’t leave my babies behind.”

“Your babi- JAY THESE ARE YOUR GUNS?”

“What else would I pack?”

“By the time we finish unpacking, I’ll be old enough to drink.” 

“You drink anyway, demon spawn.”

“Says the alcoholic.”

“Did someone say alcohol? Because I brought beer!” 

“Oh, thank god, the backups arrived. She might look tiny, but she can pick up a ton.”

Jason tries to get a look at the newcomer but fails to see past the pile of boxes in his hands.

“Here, let me help you.” Suddenly a huge weight is lifted off of Jason as a petite girl comes into view. 

“Mind if I take one?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys had a smashing New Years! I had wanted to start off the year with a happy chapter, but thought this story of healing and moving on was just as fitting. (Plus I needed a distraction from my personal statement).
> 
> I had actually written out an angsty drabble where they fight about being scared to lose each other, but I think I'll save that for another chapter. I also considered writing a fluffy follow up where they dance around the fact that she's Ladybug, but again, perhaps a later time. Please comment below if you have any ideas for future sequels/fics! I love to read them <3


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